


The Anatomy of Being Human

by kenzsza



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Connor, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, everyone is very sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:39:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzsza/pseuds/kenzsza
Summary: Love cannot exist when the world is in shambles.





	The Anatomy of Being Human

**Author's Note:**

> please read the warnings before continuing!

**Day 717**

Most everyone who knew Connor was well aware of his soft spot for animals. 

It began when Connor was young, when he realized it was much easier to speak to dogs and cats and other wildlife rather than his peers. Instead of polite disinterest, he could at least illicit a small tail wag out of a dog or, at the very least, an annoyed glance from an animal. They didn’t need to understand him. He didn’t have to explain himself because didn’t have the means to complain about him.

All of this was part of the reason why Connor had to look away in disgust when Niles killed a deer with his bow and arrow and proceeded to rip it open from its stomach with his hunting knife. “Niles!” Connor exclaimed, trying not to make it too obvious he was covering his nose to block the stench of death, but there was nothing he could do to drown out the sound of guts squishing and flesh being torn. When that didn’t get his brother’s attention, he cleared his throat. “Niles.” His brother looked up at his name. “Do you really have to do this here? Could it not have waited until we returned to Jericho?” 

Niles hummed in response. “I would rather check to make sure it isn’t diseased before bringing it back to camp,” he answered “And it’s much easier to field dress the deer now instead of running the risk of the meat spoiling.” 

As if to punctuate his point, he made the incision longer, drawing closer to the head of the animal. Niles must have sharpened his knife before they had left, because the blade glided through layers of skin and muscle like it was butter to a hot knife. Connor no longer cared about showing weakness in front of his brother, turning to look the other way. The air smelled _too_ metallic, too much like the blood that was seeping into the ground. His head spun, and bile rose in his throat. 

Niles had had the decency to roll up his sleeves and wear gloves, but the gloves didn’t make too much of a difference when blood splattered up to his shoulders as soon as he began removing the deer’s entrails. 

As it’s head rolled to the side, glassy, dead eyes seemed to stare blankly into Connor. Its mouth was still hanging open from moments before it had been killed.

“I’m going to take a walk,” Connor announced, taking one last look at the fallen animal. Niles stopped working again and looked up, a little skeptical. He seemed to look right through Connor’s inability to handle the gore, but didn’t comment on it. There was more pressing matters than making fun of his brother.

“It’s dangerous,” Niles said instead. Connor only scoffed. As if that wasn’t obvious.

Connor gestured to the woods around him. “Markus has mentioned expanding the safe zone quite a few times. I might as well scout out some of the area before we send out a hunting party.” For a moment, Connor swore he saw a glimmer of concern in Niles’ steely eyes. “I just want to look around. Besides-” He moved his jacket to the side to display the gun holstered in his belt, letting the rest of his sentence remain unspoken. 

Niles wrinkled his nose, and the worry quickly disappeared from his face as quickly as it had first emerged as he barked out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s much too loud.” As he turned back to the deer. “Use your knife instead.” Taking that as permission to leave (not that he ever needed permission in the first place- he was the older brother, after all), Connor nodded curtly and began his trek into the forest. 

 

His brother slowly became just a figure in the distance. Connor felt like a weight was taken off his shoulders; he could breathe again.

The woods, deemed simply “The Forest” to everyone in Jericho, stretched for miles. To the south, trees gradually gave way to a lake that extended as far as the eye could see. Abandoned boats littered the water, most have long since tipped over and been torn apart by the elements. Rotters and gasoline had contaminated the water long before, rendering the lake useless as a water supply. Most of the fish had died, as well, their bodies floating on the surface of the water. To the west, a railroad track cut through the forest and snaked northwards. The train cars left on the tracks were unable to run, the machinery long since rusted beyond repair, and even if they could, a crashed boxcar laid haphazardly across the tracks. Other than those landmarks, there was nothing to distinguish one part of the woods from the next. Dead rotters laid here and there, unmoving and unchanging after almost two years. All the trees looked identical so, didn’t take long to get lost and turned around. Since he’d been through these parts consistently, Connor trusted his sense of direction, but just to be sure, he tied red flags to every few trees he passed. 

It was eerily quiet, the only sound disrupting the silence being the wind blowing through the trees and the crunch of leaves under Connor’s feet . He felt less constricted outside in the woods by himself; of course didn’t mind the constant presence of Jericho! In fact, they almost made him feel like he was a part of a family. But sometimes, like any other family, being surrounded by them too much often made Connor feel suffocated. He felt like he had no privacy. The lack of space made any new development within Jericho spread like a wildfire. Everyone knew each other's secrets, so there was nowhere to hide… Not like he had anything _to_ hide, considering how quick he was to speak his mind. However, the ability to keep even an insignificant secret would be nice.

The sound of fluttering wings and soft coos snapped Connor out of his mind. He watched a flock of doves pass by overhead. He was glad Niles hadn’t insisted on coming along, or his brother would have risked the chance of being heard to shoot a few birds for dinner. Connor observed them as they flew above the treetops, eventually soaring into the distance. The thought of flying away from his problems filled him with a sense of jealousy that bubbled inside him for a fraction of a second. Connor pushed the feeling aside; emotions were messy. They did nothing but cause doubt and create distractions when it came to survival. Besides, there was no reason to be envious of animals.

A feather floated down and landed silently beside Connor’s foot. He bent over and picked it up and twirling it between his fingers to take a closer look. Feathers didn’t have much purpose, but they didn’t take up too much valuable space in his bag. Maybe Niles could use them for something. Arrows? Perhaps a new memento to add to his collection of animal skulls and geodes?

He continued on his path carefully, switching between looking down at his compass and keeping an eye on the trail ahead. Connor spun the feather as he walked, feeling habitual from the weight of the feather fitting comfortably in his hand.

Connor stopped his thoughts and turned rapidly at the sound of a rotter growling in the distance. As he paused, Connor watched as it slowly dragged its way towards him, moaning and gnashing its teeth. He could kill it. It wouldn't be too difficult: a kick to the back of its knees and a swift stab of the head. Or he could save his energy in case a more urgent situation occurred. It was getting more difficult to find food in the safe zone, most of the stores in the area already thoroughly picked through, and Connor found himself growing tired just from walking. 

Connor watched it limp closer to him. _The fewer rotters, the better,_ as North had always said. He sighed and took a moment to tie a flag around a fallen log. Might as well put one more rotter down now then wait for it to come back later. 

His fingers danced over the handle of his knife. It was a pretty little thing: curved wooden handle with grooves for a comfortable grip and a stainless steel blade. The teeth in the knife blade had long since been stained brown with old blood. It had been imbedded in the head of a rotter in one of the first houses he and Niles raided, its owner long gone. It had saved his life numerous times, and Connor liked to think it had some sort of luck to it.

He braced himself as the rotter approached. Time seemed to slow as Connor let his brain play different scenarios for killing the rotter, narrowing his eyes as he tried to pick the most efficient situation.

_Throw his knife at its head._ It provided less opportunity for the rotter to grab at him, and Connor had a good enough aim, but with the way the thing was thrashing its head and reaching out for him, he might hit the wrong part of its body. He also needed to take into account how long it took to aim, the power he put into his throw, et cetera.

_Stab it from head-on._ The most direct approach, but also the most dangerous. One wrong move and Connor could be bitten. He preferred to live another day.

_Run around from behind and stab it in the back of its skull._ The rotter seemed slow enough; it was limping severely, thanks to a very twisted leg, and it only had one eye. Connor could easily advance on its bad side and kill it before it realized what happened.

Connor rushed forwards. The rotter swung its arm towards him, fingers trying to grab ahold of Connor, but he had already anticipated that possibility. He ducked under its outstretched arm and popped back up behind it, skillfully forcing a quick and fatal jab to the back of its head. Connor watched the rotter fall to the ground before leaning down to take back his knife. It was rooted deep into the rotter’s skull, so he had to use his foot on its back as leverage to pull out his weapon. The knife came out with a thick noise.

A speck of blood dirtied Connor’s boot. He grimaced as he took a handkerchief out of pocket and wiped off his knife, folding up the soiled cloth and trying not to worry too much about the stains. He couldn’t stand anything on his shoes.

Already on edge, Connor jumped in surprise when he heard it. Leaves crackling. Bushes rustling. Connor aimed his gun with one hand and kept his knife close to his chest with the other. His hands trembled ever so slightly.

_Boof!_

Before Connor could even think about shooting, a blur of white, brown, and black came rushing out of the foliage. It slammed into his body, making him stumble backwards a few steps. Connor looked down in wonder.

“Dog,” he said smartly.

The dog had its paws on Connor’s shoulders, forcing him to lean back and wrap one arm around it to support the weight of the giant creature. It- Connor glanced down once more; it was definitely a he- was cute, with layers of extra skin and droopy eyes that radiated kindness. The dog wagged his tail slowly, his tongue taking a moment to slowly loll out of his mouth.

“Hello, dog,” Connor repeated, the fear that had been constricting his throat slowly transitioning into something else. Something much lighter that he hadn’t felt for a long time now. He put away his gun and sheathed his knife before getting down on his knees, offering a hand for the dog to smell. It pressed its nose against his palm and exhaled a puff of cold air. “How are you out here all by yourself?” On closer inspection, Connor realized the dog was wearing a collar that had long since faded into a dirty grey-brown color. Its tag still clung onto the collar by a rusty wire. Connor took the metal between his fingers. Most of the letters and numbers were long since faded away or covered in grime, but luckily he could still make out the most important word. “Sumo?” The dog perked up in recognition of his name. 

“ _Boof._ ” 

“Shhh.” Connor put a finger to his lips. He put one hand on the dog’s nose to silence him. “You have to be quiet, Sumo. Don’t draw any unnecessary attention to us, do you understand?”

Sumo understood. He licked the tips of Connor’s fingers. His nose was cold and wet on Connor’s hand. 

Connor smiled, his cheeks tight at the foreign expression on his face. “Good boy.” He stood up. “Would you like to come with me and Niles? I’m sure there’s room for you back at camp.” 

Sumo did like that idea, and he made sure to show it by pawing at Connor’s leg. His breaths came out hot and ragged as he panted. Who knew when the last time he had gotten water had been? Connor took out his water bottle, pouring what little precious water he had into his palm to let Sumo drink from his hand. The dog lapped at it gratefully. Connor swallowed heavily, trying not to think about his own thirst. That could wait for later.

It was surprising that a dog could live so long on its own and still be so gentle. Connor realized the probability of Sumo not having an owner was low. He still seemed fond of people. Most of the other dogs Connor had met would growl and chase him away from their territory. Animals that were once domesticated and plump had long since returned to their wild nature, forming packs that terrorized parts of the forest. He'd gotten bitten by a frenzied and emancipated German Shepard only a few months ago, the bite mark leaving a nasty scar on his leg that was sure to remain for some time. Sumo was a rare case. “Where’s your owner, boy?” Connor asked softly, ruffling Sumo’s fur. 

Unsurprisingly, Sumo didn’t answer. 

When Sumo had finished drinking, Connor took out a rope of braided paracord and tied a makeshift lead around the dog’s neck. Sumo whined in protest. “I know, it’s just so I don't lose you. It’s only for now, alright?” The dog’s ears flattened against his head for a moment, but he otherwise didn’t seem to disagree.

They started to make the trek back to Niles. Sumo seemed a little lethargic, his movements slow and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Upon closer inspection, his ribs were beginning to show through his thick coat. Connor frowned. He’d need to feed Sumo eventually, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to convince Jericho that they needed an extra mouth to provide for, much less an animal’s.

Niles must have been making his way to meet up with Connor, because they ran into each other sooner than Connor had anticipated. His brother was dragging a now-full cooler. He glanced down at Sumo. “Is that dinner for tomorrow?” he asked, pointing the tip of his knife at the dog. 

“This is Sumo,” Connor said. Sumo looked up at him and tilted his head.

“You gave it a name,” Niles examined, looking wary of the dog. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Sumo slowly opened his mouth and began panting. “We aren’t keeping it.” 

“I wasn’t asking you.” Connor patted the top of Sumo’s head. It had been so long since he had seen anyone with a pet. Most had died after the end or disappeared when their owners turned. The thought of Sumo trailing behind him at camp made his heart bloom in happiness. “He could be a watchdog.” Better yet, he could be Connor’s friend.

And he may have been a good watchdog, if only he were about twenty pounds lighter and didn’t have grey hairs starting to fleck his jowls. “Absolutely not.” Niles glared at Connor. Rarely did he get worked up enough to raise his voice, but his icy stares made up his lack of infliction. Connor stared right back.

“He would lighten everyone’s mood,” Connor said.

“ _It_ is going to be a waste of food,” Niles argued. Connor prickled at his choice in words. “I doubt even Markus would want it lumbering around.”

Connor placed a hand on Sumo’s head. “ _He_ will be _my_ pet, then.” 

“It isn’t a goldfish. It’s a dog.”

“Sumo wouldn’t be a bother. He doesn’t need his own room, and he can just eat a portion of my rations.”

“Really, Connor, you’re being absolutely ridiculous-”

The cord was ripped out of Connor’s hands. His palms stang, but Connor ignored the pain as he watched in horror as Sumo bounded off into the distance, the dog’s footfalls clumsy but his intent clear as he beelined towards his unknown destination. If he didn’t know any better, Connor would have called out for him. Months of learning to be quiet kept Connor from immediately yelling for Sumo. Instead, he ran after his new friend. It was probably an idea he’d regret as Niles would definitely be irritated, but somehow Connor knew he had to follow Sumo.

“ _Connor_ ,” Niles hissed from behind, but Connor ignored him. He could deal with the consequences of his actions later. Connor chased after Sumo, dodging Niles as he tried to grab the hood of his jacket.

Sumo may have been a large and clumsy looking dog, but he was easily faster than Connor. He quickly ran further and further ahead until Connor had to depend solely on broken branches and the sound of heavy breathing in the distance in order to find Sumo. He ducked under tree branches and hopped over rocks and logs, desperate to catch up to the dog even as brush scratched his face and upturned roots came close to tripping him. 

In the back of his mind, Connor registered that he was no longer inside the safe zone. He could see the angry red lines on Markus’ map and the large letters saying _OFF LIMITS_ like it was in front of him.

Eventually, Sumo came to a sudden halt at the edge of a clearing. Connor wheezed as he stopped a few feet away from the dog, hunching over and trying to gain his breath. He wasn't out of shape, but he also hadn't eaten anything since the day before and had to ration his water until the next time it rained. His head spun at the overexertion. Sumo looked over his shoulder as if to say, _Finally, you've made it!_ Connor only shook his head, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. 

“Bad dog,” he gasped. Sumo only tilted his head and wagged his tail slowly. 

Upon further inspection, they weren't alone in the woods. A rotter was hanging by its neck from a tree. It must have been stuck up there for a while. Its skin was a ghastly white color with muscle showing under a deep gash in its cheek and a chunk of flesh missing from its arm. Where the rope dug into its neck, skin was long since rubbed away. A tree branch was beginning to grow through its chest, twigs and leaves poking out between its ribs almost poetically. Connor watched as it clawed the air helplessly and snarled as it tried to get to him. He swallowed heavily and reached up to touch his own throat. The rotter’s death didn't seem like an accident. 

Additionally, there was a body laying face down in the middle of the muddy grass. Grey hair fanned out across the ground as it slumbered silently. A gun sat in its right hand, pointer finger still curled around the trigger. Perhaps they were fighting off rotters. With the lack of blood in the surrounding area and the fact that the deceased person hadn’t been torn apart, it seemed they were planning on joining the rotter in the tree in death. Whoever it was must have died recently. Their clothes were still fairly intact, and only a thin covering of leaves and dirt sat on top of its back. A backpack laid a few feet away, seemingly untouched. Connor approached it slowly, unsheathing his knife. The body didn't seem to be moving, a sign it hadn’t turned, but one could never be too sure. 

As he got closer, Connor recoiled at the stench, a hand flying up to cover his nose. It didn't smell like a decomposing human, a scent he still hadn't gotten used to after all this time, but instead like vomit. And alcohol. Which made sense, considering the amount of beer bottles littered across the ground. He stepped around the body, but Sumo walked up to it and nudged its hand, whining low and soft. 

“Hush, boy,” Connor whispered. He tried to push Sumo back with his foot, but the dog seemed set on sitting beside the body. Sumo looked up at Connor expectantly. “Go away,” Connor insisted, “it might hurt you.”

Sumo didn't budge. With a reserved sigh, Connor knelt down and began searching the body. He was soft, but not soft enough to let a dog keep him from scavenging like he was supposed to. His hands roamed under the dead man’s coat, patting him down for anything of value while consciously avoiding any spots that seemed suspiciously wet. If he found nothing else, at least Connor could nab the jacket. It was thickly padded, perfect for the coming winter months.

Sumo barked. Loud enough for it to echo off the forest floor and ring in Connor’s ears.

Connor practically jumped out of his skin. He almost dropped his knife, cutting himself as he fumbled to catch it before it fell to the ground. With his hand gripping the handle of his weapon with white-knuckled hands, Connor held his knife over the body’s head. His nose wrinkled to fight the stench. If the man was a rotter, he’d be up to kill Connor soon. It was in his best interest to make sure that didn’t happen. For both of their sakes.

Before Connor could stab it in the head, though, it spoke. 

“Uhhh… Sumo?” 

It spoke.

It… spoke?

Connor too shocked to lower his weapon. He watched, paralyzed in fear, as the man in front of him lifted his head, almost cutting himself on the blade. “The fuck ‘er you?” he slurred. His face was smeared with dirt and grass, which Connor would have commented on if he weren't so surprised. 

“You're alive,” he said dumbly. 

“Ah, fuck.” The man laid his head back down in the mud and vomit. “That wasn't supposed to happen.”

Connor wasn't sure what to do, which was not something that happened very often for him. Was he supposed to leave him here? Bring this man back to Jericho? There wasn’t exactly a protocol for finding strangers in the middle of the woods where he wasn’t supposed to be.

He stood up straight as Niles joined him. 

“Do not do that again,” Niles said, voice teetering on the edge of anger. He must have been frantic to find Connor. Sweat was beading on his hairline, and his pupils were blown wide. His gaze lowered to the man on the ground. “Is it dead?” 

The man retched. Connor and Niles both took a step back.

“I think it’s safe to say he’s alive,” Connor confirmed. 

His brother pressed two fingers two the man’s jugular, earning a low moan in response. “Barely,” he said. “His pulse is slow.” Niles felt the man’s forehead with the back of his hand. “I’d say he’s barely holding on.” He looked up at Connor. “There isn’t much point in bringing him back if he’s just going to encumber us.”

Niles stooped down to pick up the forgotten backpack. He unzipped it carefully. Connor peaked over his shoulder to check its contents. A few cans of food, a mostly empty water bottle, two more beer bottles. Not much, but enough to make somewhat of an impact back at camp. Niles picked through what wasn’t needed and threw it onto the ground. He discarded the beer, a muddy tennis ball (which immediately peeked Sumo’s interest), a bottle of expired antidepressants rattling with pills, a weathered leather wallet-

Connor picked up the wallet and hesitated. He glanced at the man on the ground. At that point, Sumo had reserved himself to laying by his owner, his big head resting on his back and expression sad. 

There was no reason to learn the man’s name if he was going to die anyways. But Sumo looked so miserable, and the gun in the man’s hand glinted in the sunlight. Connor unfolded the wallet and went through its contents.

_Name? Henry Anderson._ His license had long since begun to deteriorate, the edges crumbling and the words hard to decipher. Connor could tell the man had once been handsome. His hair was a dull blond and cropped much cleaner than it was currently in his license photograph, beard trimmed neatly. He unfolded a weathered picture of Henry and a group of people in what looked to be a Christmas party setting, everyone wearing tacky light up sweaters and Santa hats. Connor turned over the photo and read the words on the back. _Correction, Hank Anderson._

_Age?_ Connor squinted at the date of birth and considered for a moment. Approximately 53. 

He flipped through the sections of the wallet. His fingers traced an ID card for the Detroit Police Department. _Police?_

There was not much else. Soggy and torn money- _Useless,_ Connor thought dejectedly, _not even for kindling_ \- a faded grocery store card and gym membership. 

The only real momento that said anything beyond basic facts about the man- Hank, was a photograph. It was kept in a waterproof slip and had obviously been well taken care of, much more so than the license and various credit cards. Connor thumbed at it carefully as he looked over it. Hank and a little boy sat together in the grass, arms around a younger-looking Sumo. They were smiling bright, as if someone had told them a joke moments before taking the picture. The boy was probably Hank’s: his nose took after the older man’s and his face had the promise of being the same shape as his dad’s. It must’ve have been taken before the End. The skyline of a city was behind them, devoid of destruction and smoke, and the grass was green from constant care. No blood, no dismembered bodies, and no existential dread. 

Connor tilted his head, thumbnail tracing the buildings in the photograph. He was beginning to forget what it was like to feel safe. To feel _happy_. It troubled him in ways he didn’t care to think about.

Moaning from beyond the treeline caught Connor’s attention. He looked up as three rotters began to limp into the clearing. Enough for Niles and Connor to be able to take down on their own, but not the drunken half-dead man on the ground. “Time to go, Connor,” Niles said. Connor watched as he slung Hank’s backpack onto his shoulder in one fluid motion. 

“Are we going to leave him?” Connor asked, glancing down at Hank. Covered in his own vomit, hair matted and beard full of dirt, moaning in what Connor presumed to be pain. With the state he was in, Hank was surely dead if they didn’t take him back to Jericho.

“Unless you’d like to drag his miserable ass back to camp.” Niles was gestured to Sumo. “You can take the dog if you must insist.” 

Connor perked up at the idea. He slipped the makeshift leash back around Sumo’s neck. “C’mon, boy,” he murmured, tugging at the rope as the rotters drew nearer. Their groans would soon draw more of the monsters to their location. It was only a matter of time.

Sumo cried softly. He refused to budge, laying on his belly instead and poking Hank’s head with his nose in protest.

Niles sighed in exasperation and shook his head. “I’m not waiting for you,” he said simply before walking away, backpack, quiver, and bow thumping against his back and cooler making twin tracks in the mud. 

_Only a matter of time._ Connor looked between Hank and the rotters. They were less than fifty feet away. Hank wouldn’t have a fast death, for sure, but perhaps he wouldn’t feel the same agony of being eaten alive in his current state of mind. 

“Sumo,” Connor repeated with another firm pull on the leash. Sumo was probably around the same weight as Connor, if not heavier. There was no way he would be able to get Sumo to move if the dog didn’t want to. But Connor had to hurry- Niles was leaving them behind. Surely he wouldn’t actually go back to camp without him? But his brother was slowly disappearing into the brush, not even bothering to look over his shoulder. 

Sumo stayed firmly in place. How loyal, even until the end. Connor’s heart ached at the thought of Sumo standing by as his owner perished. Would he watch from afar as his companion died? Or would he try to fight off the rotters? He wouldn’t survive long by himself, either, if he was still a domesticated pet. 

The thought of two seemingly innocent lives being taken… A sudden burst of compassion shot through Connor. “You’re making this very difficult,” he sighed at Sumo. The dog wagged only the tip of his tail.

Thirty feet away. 

Connor hooked his arms under Hank’s armpits. “Up you go,” he grunted. It took a lot of effort on Connor’s part to try and lift him up. The man was easily fifty pounds heavier than Connor, and it didn’t help that he was deadweight in his state of health. Connor heaved as he scrambled back and dug his heels in the ground as he pulled Hank up and out of his own mess, just barely managing to get Hank upright. 

The smell of throw-up made Connor woozy. He made a face and breathed through his mouth instead.

Twenty feet. Or maybe fifteen? It was difficult to tell when he was so lightheaded.

Hank teetered forwards, eyes half-closed and beginning to roll back. Connor ducked under him and managed to catch him before he fell back down. He wasn’t about to let his hard work go to waste. Not when Niles would surely stay angry at him for a long time if spent all this time trying to rescue this man for nothing. Connor tucked himself against Hank’s side and draped the larger man’s arm around his shoulders before hooking his own arm around Hank’s body. 

“Hank?” Connor asked. When he got no reply, he asked a little louder, “Hank?” Silence. Connor elbowed Hank in the side. That only earned him a low grunt in response.

“I’m going to need you to at least try and walk with me, alright?”

“Fuck off,” Hank spat. “Leave me alone.” 

Well, at least he was talking. That must have been a good sign, right?

“I’m afraid not.” Connor huffed. He stepped forward with one foot, back straining and knees shaky under the weight of the larger man. To his dismay, Hank did almost nothing to help with the process. The rotters were close enough that Connor smell the stench of death, see the maggots crawling out of one of their eye sockets. Their outstretched hands were almost grazing Connor’s arm. “Hank, if you could just-”

“That’s ‘Lieutenant’ to you,” Hank slurred.

“ _Lieutenant_ ,” Connor corrected with an eye roll, “please.”

Apparently that was the magic word, because with a half-hearted curse Hank slowly but surely dragged himself with Connor to the edge of the clearing. Connor was certain he was going to be sore the next day, and he was sweating through his shirt and his binder. Sweat was dripping down his forehead and getting into his eyes. Sumo trailed behind, not at all helpful, wagging his tail and looking much too pleased with himself. 

“I hope you’re happy,” Connor wheezed.

Sumo barked in response.

The rotters followed Connor as he struggled to get away from danger, but they were slower. It didn’t take long to leave them behind.

Despite his initial threats, Niles had stopped to wait for Connor. He was sitting in front of a small stream not too far from the clearing, filling his water bottle when Connor came to a halt a few feet away. Connor practically dumped Hank onto the ground before bending over to catch his breath. “I cannot believe you,” Niles said, not looking up. “A dog and a drunk.” 

“We can’t just leave people to die.” Connor tried to sound stern, but he was so out of breath that his sentence came out as more of a gasp for air. “We don’t know how many more of us are alive.” 

Niles hummed in response and paused to dig for sharp stones in the water. A few pointed rocks were added to Hank’s backpack. He must have needed time to think of what to say, which Connor took as a small victory. It wasn’t often when Niles was at a loss for words. “You remember what it was like out there, Connor,” he said finally. Connor stiffened. He preferred not think of his time before Jericho. “The End has changed people. We can’t trust anyone anymore.” Niles stood up, and Connor resented the fact he had to tilt his head back to meet his brother’s gaze. 

“I think he has a son,” Connor said. “He’s kept a picture of him. And he’s been taking care of Sumo. Surely he’s a good man?”

They both looked at Hank, who covered his mouth before ducking behind a tree to throw up.

“They’re both your problem,” Niles reminded Connor. “At least check if he’s bitten before you kill us all.”

At least Niles had the heart to take Connor’s bag from him before leaving him to carry Hank again.

With a resigned sigh, Connor turned back to his “problem.” He was beginning to regret his decision to be humane.

Hank regarded Connor with a guarded look, blue eyes seemingly darker than before. For the first time, Connor realized a knife was tucked behind in the waistband of Hank’s pants. A stupid decision, really, as he could have easily impaled himself on it when he had decided to drink his sorrows away. Hank groped blindly for his weapon before holding it out towards Connor, borderline threateningly. His arm was swaying, and it was difficult to take him seriously when he was still covered in dirt and his own mess.

“I need to check you for bites,” Connor said, taking a step forwards. He determined he had at least three seconds to react to any attack Hank could pull, more than enough time for him to keep from being injured.

“You were going to stab me,” Hank managed, his voice accusing. 

“I was,” Connor admitted, “but I thought you were turned. I’m trying to help you.” 

He got onto his knees and reached forwards to pull at Hank’s jacket, but the man backed away from his outstretched fingers.

“You’re making this difficult,” Connor bit out, trying not to grow frustrated.

“I’m not bit.” Hank’s knife stayed quivering in the air, his eyebrows drawn together as he tried to concentrate on Connor’s face.

“I need to check-”

Hank lunged forward as if he were planning to sink the knife into Connor’s chest. However, he was a good six inches off, and his terrible aim gave Connor enough time to lean to one side at the jab and disarm him with a hard hit to his arm. 

“Bites,” Connor repeated.

“Suck my dick.” 

Connor rolled his eyes.

It took longer than it should’ve just to check Hank’s upper body. He was slapping Connor’s hands away, and Connor eventually had to pin both of his arms above his head and use his free hand to maneuver the jacket. He felt along his chest, his shoulders, his biceps. No lumps, no suspicious indents or flesh missing. When he drew his hand back out, there was no blood staining them.

Connor glanced at Hank’s legs. He figured if he had been bitten there, he’d be limping badly and showing obvious signs of pain by now. 

How fortunate that Connor got to drag Hank all the way back to camp. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It was going to be a long trek.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @kenzsza !


End file.
